


T-Shirt

by scriptophobia



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Parties, Prompt: Attempted Rape, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriptophobia/pseuds/scriptophobia
Summary: Virgil drags Roman to a party.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958671
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	T-Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags on this one, I won’t be hurt or offended if you gotta skip this one. you’re more important than a fic.

“Come on Princey, it’s one night.”   
  
“Shouldn’t I be the one dragging you out on a school night?” Roman huffs, head buried in his laptop.

Virgil gently pulls the computer from Roman, being sure to save his document before closing it. “Your essay isn’t due for three more weeks. You need a break.”   
  
“Well I don’t see why my break has to include other people.”   
  
“Because,” Virgil tugs his roommate's arm to get him to stand. “I am the only person you have seen in three days. You need a social life, Mr Extrovert.”

Roman huffs and makes his way to his room to get changed, grumbling about Virgil’s ‘mediocre nickname’. He shuffles through his closet, figuring that if he  _ has _ to go, he’s going to at  _ least _ make Virgil wait for him to look his absolute best.

He finally emerges from his room, adorned in a half open floral button up, black skinny jeans, and a leather jacket. Paired with his (see: Virgil’s) combat boots, he reluctantly motions Virgil along, locking their apartment door on the way out.

The house is loud and the bass pounds through Roman’s chest like a panic attack ready to happen. The wolf whistles Roman hears as he walks in only cause him to pull his jacket closer to his body, covering his exposed chest. He wanders over to the kitchen island-turned-bar, and pours himself a cup of whatever he finds first. 

“I haven’t seen you around,” purrs a man in a boring white t-shirt. “Come here often?”

“It’s a big college,” responds Roman, shifting uncomfortably at T-shirt’s gaze. He sips his drink, which turns out to be rum, and grimaces. “Also, I’d suggest working on your openers if you wanted to pick someone up. They’re pretty weak, if I do say so myself.”

Roman begins to walk away, when T-shirt grabs his arm, causing his drink to slosh. “At least let me get your name?”

“Roman.”   
  
“I’m Dylan.”

“I didn’t ask,” Roman scoffs, pulling his arm free. 

He walks, trying to find Virgil, when he starts feeling dizzy. Confused, Roman finds the bathroom and leans against the counter. His head is fuzzy and his knees are growing weaker, and how much alcohol did he have? He splashes some cold water in his face and rejoins the party, locking eyes with Dylan almost immediately. 

He stumbles, and his new friend is there to catch him. “You’ve had a lot to drink, yeah babe?”

He tries to respond, tries to wiggle out of Dylan’s grip, but all that comes out is jumbled words and stumbling steps. Dylan chuckles, “let’s get you upstairs, babe.”

Roman freezes, he knows what that means, knows what must’ve happened, but his body willingly moves with Dylan’s up the stairs and into a far bedroom at the end of the hall. Roman is shuffled out of his jacket, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, and thrown onto the bed.

His barely conscious mind is yelling,  _ screaming _ as Dylan climbs on top of his, and his cold, cracked lips touch Roman’s, as they move down his neck, his chest.

“Stop,” he slurs, and Dylan laughs, shakes his head, and begins unzipping Roman’s pants.

“You’re mine tonight,” his assaulter rasps, “only mine.”

Roman shakes his head weakly, trying to bat the other man’s hands away as he tugs Roman’s jeans down. Dylan’s hands are on the waistband of Roman’s briefs when the door swings open. 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Yells Virgil. He rushes into the room, pulling Dylan off of Roman. 

“Ever heard of knocking, asshole?”   
  
“Ever heard of consent, dickwad?”

“Well maybe if he wasn’t dressed like such a  _ slut— _ ”

“Get the fuck out of here, before I call the cops on your ass.” Virgil growls as Dylan leaves. 

“Virge,” Roman slurs, snapping Virgil out of his rage induced haze. 

Virgil helps Roman sit up and against the headboard, wiping the tears that Roman couldn’t feel were falling. 

“Are you okay?” Virgil asks gently. “Of course you’re not, that was a dumb question. Did he hurt you at all? Was I too late? Did—“

“Virgil.”

“Yes?”

“Can we go home?”

“Of course.” 

Virgil sends a quick text to the host of the party as he lets Roman redress himself, per his insistence that he’s  _ fine _ , Virgil,  _ seriously _ . 

Virgil is proud to say that the next time he sees Dylan, he’s walking with a limp.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr and send me more prompts @ heavenly-roman
> 
> take my spleen if u see a typo
> 
> comments and kudos will kick dylan in the face


End file.
